


Of Ships And Women

by Leyenn



Category: Doctor Who, Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An amusingly piratical tale of ships and women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Ships And Women

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/gifts).



> Post-_At World's End_. Sometime after Martha goes back to the Doctor.

_Once upon a time there was a pirate queen..._

Martha can't quite believe she's still on Earth, even less that she's standing in the eighteenth century. The incredible structure in the centre of the cove is lit with oil lamps as far up as she can see, as if it's reaching up out of the cove and into the sky.

"It's built out of shipwrecks," she says, in wonder. The Doctor grins and tucks his arm through hers.

"Fantastic, isn't it?"

"It's _amazing_." Even some of the spaceports he's taken her to weren't as elaborate as this.

"Come on." The Doctor tugs her toward the rickety bridge in front of their feet, a thing of thick tarred rope and black wood that leads across nothing to the lamplit darkness on the other side. "There's someone here you're going to love."

  


*

  


The woman isn't at all like anyone Martha's ever seen, on Earth or otherwise. This is most likely, she thinks to herself, because the Doctor hasn't yet decided to take her anywhere else that she might come across a real life Amazon, which is most definitely what she's seeing now.

She has tanned skin, long, dark blonde hair flying around her face in the wind, and she'd be a size eight at the very most if she shopped, which Martha is certain she doesn't. She's dressed all in black leather, high boots and embroidered emerald green silk; hanging from the thick obi belt around her waist are a mismatched pair of swords and a long flintlock pistol. Around her neck are two gold chains and a leather thong, and when her hair flies back Martha can see a jade pendant pressed against her throat.

Her hands are wrapped around the spokes of the ship's wheel: emeralds and sapphires glint from almost every knuckle, but for a thin band of gold on her left ring finger.

"Your Majesty," the Doctor says, and bows extravagantly low. "It's been a while."

The woman smiles and arches an eyebrow as she looks from the Doctor to Martha and then back again. "Mister Smith. It has indeed been quite a while since you graced the _Empress_ with your presence. Have you reconsidered my offer this time?"

The Doctor grins. "Sorry, no."

"That's a shame," the woman says, and she seems to mean it. Martha wonders what the Doctor's business here is, and how even he came to know this woman pirate.

"Jack Sparrow about?" he asks jovially. "Need him for something, if your majesty doesn't mind."

The woman laughs. "If you can find him, Mister Smith, and he's interested in what you're interested in offering, you're welcome to him."

The ship rocks under her feet; Martha puts her hand out to grab the rail and the woman smirks gently at her.

"Your latest companion doesn't quite have her sea legs, I see."

"Oh!" The Doctor looks at her like he's just remembered she's there. "Your Majesty - Martha Jones. Martha Jones; her majesty Elizabeth Turner, the Pirate King of the Seven Seas."

  


*

  


"So you're a king," Martha says, over the sound of the wind. Elizabeth laughs. It's a soft sound, at odds with the look of her, as if she keeps it hidden somewhere inside the armour of leather and steel she's wearing.

"It's a long story."

"It looks like I have time." Martha suddenly wants to know how a woman like this, who has a smile like that and such a soft laugh, ended up the king of a pirate nation living on a Chinese junk at the heart of a fortress built of shipwrecks. "The Doctor obviously doesn't need me for whatever it is he's doing here."

Elizabeth looks at her curiously. "Why do you call him by that name? The Doctor?"

"That's his name," Martha says. "Well, not his real name. I don't know... that's just how I've always known him. He's just the Doctor."

"Ah. Well, I know what it is to need another name," Elizabeth says. She shakes her head, throwing her hair back out of her face. "So, have you ever sailed aboard a pirate ship, Martha Jones?"

Martha never has, and she's never really thought about it either, but suddenly, it sounds like a great idea. "No," she says, in a voice that even to her sounds eager. Elizabeth grins.

"Well, then." She calls out over Martha's shoulder. "Huang! Take the wheel! We sail on the tide!" She looks back at Martha with a wicked smile in her eyes, and suddenly Martha thinks she might know how this woman came to be a pirate king after all.

"Come with me, Martha Jones," she says, and takes Martha's hand.

  


*

  


"Where are we going?" She doesn't really care very much - the Doctor seems to trust her host, or he'd never have left her here - but she supposes it would be nice to know.

"Does it matter?" Elizabeth asks. "We're pirates. The sea is where we belong."

"You still haven't told me how you came to be a pirate," Martha says. They're in the captain's cabin - Elizabeth's cabin - and a pair of muscular half-dressed Chinese twins are serving them with slices of steaming ham, thick sausages, loaves of thick bread and a rich buttery cheese, all alongside a bowl of fresh exotic fruits only half of which Martha knows the name of. There's a large glass bottle of something Martha presumes is alcoholic, too, from which Elizabeth has already poured a liberal serving into a carved wooden cup and downed an impressive swallow without any change in expression.

Elizabeth catches her watching as she lowers the cup and grins. "Here," she says, starting to pour a second cup.

"Oh, no, I-"

"You're a guest aboard the _Empress_, and as a guest it behooves me to make you welcome," Elizabeth says, and holds out the cup.

"Please."

She takes it, smells it and takes a reluctant sip. It burns like rough, bitter fire going down and she coughs desperately, her eyes watering. "Wow."

Elizabeth laughs that soft laugh. "Are you not a lover of rum?"

She winces, the aftertaste still strong in her mouth, and coughs around the words. "Um, apparently not."

Elizabeth rises from the chair and approaches her. She moves with the sway of the ship as if she's a part of it, as if the sea is her element, and the rings on her hands sparkle as her fingers close on the cup and take it from Martha's hands. "Well then," she says, pushes Martha's chair back as she leans forward, and her eyes glint with that pirate smile, "perhaps you're a lover of something else."

Her mouth is as soft as her laugh, and Martha completely forgets that they're not alone.

A moment later, they are.

  


*

  


Elizabeth has skilled hands, calloused with old rope burns and more than a few scars, and Martha can just imagine how easily she probably handles those swords - as easily as she handles Martha, those hands skimming over her skin as they fall tangled into the luxurious pile of furs covering Elizabeth's bed.

"Strange clothes you wear," Elizabeth murmurs, leaving a throbbing mark on Martha's collarbone when she looks up, trying to work out the clasp of a bra that won't be invented for another century or two. She grins and reaches back to guide those rough fingers to what they're hunting.

"Lot better than wearing a corset," she says. Elizabeth's heavy embroidered robe is hanging open, her belt and weapons left behind on the dinner table. Her shift is ridden up and she's emphatically _not_ wearing a corset, no matter what Martha was lead to believe in history class about the eighteenth century. But then, if there's anything she's learnt travelling with the Doctor, it's never trust history books - especially on the topic of brazen pirate women.

"Easier to take off, too," Elizabeth says, with a smile. "That could become quite popular with a good few bad men of my acquaintance. Perhaps we can do some business."

"I thought that's what we were doing," Martha says, daring to be mischievous with that hunger in blue eyes looking down at her, and slides her hand down under the furs. Elizabeth chuckles wickedly.

"Well noted, Miss Jones," she says, and kisses Martha with a rough passion that makes her forget everything else.

  


*

  


"You have a son?" Somehow she's shocked by that, even though she's seen the thin gold ring that hasn't moved from Elizabeth's finger. There are probably a lot of things that could have come up in conversation at this point, but this isn't one she expected, and yet Elizabeth shrugs as if it's nothing of import.

"William." Elizabeth smiles fondly. "He's well cared for back in Shipwreck. He's not old enough yet to sail on the _Empress_." She laughs. "Nor the _Pearl_, though he steals himself aboard every chance he gets."

"The _Pearl_?"

"The _Black Pearl_," Elizabeth says. She rolls onto her side and props her chin on her hand, smiling. "You do intrigue me, Martha Jones. You come here a free coloured woman with your Mister Smith - one of the most piratical men I've had the fortune to have in my employ - and you certainly act like a pirate..." Her fingers trail across Martha's hot skin as she shakes her head. "And yet you know nothing of the pirate code, you don't like rum, and now you've never heard of the _Black Pearl_?" Her smile is curious. "You are fascinating, Martha."

"I'm... from somewhere a long way from here," Martha says.

"From the same place as your Mister Smith, no doubt."

Martha smiles. "No, not quite that far away." She leans back, turning her head to look up at Elizabeth. "What about his father?"

"Will," Elizabeth says, and her voice is quiet, sad but tender with affection. "My darling Will. Four years it's been since I've seen him, and it will be six more before he finds me again."

"Is he a pirate, like you?"

"More a pirate than me," Elizabeth says, shaking her head, and for a moment she looks more innocent than Martha could imagine she is. She can't imagine anyone more of a pirate than this woman from the eighteenth century who sleeps with black women she's only just met, who lives her life bearing arms on a sailing ship and employs the Doctor for who knows what kind of purpose.

"I don't think he is," she says boldly, and reaches up to run her fingers through Elizabeth's hair.

Elizabeth smiles at that. "Really." She slides over beneath the sheets, a slim thigh pushing between Martha's. "Maybe you're right. I hardly know any more." She shakes her head in amazement, and her long hair falls around her face like a soft curtain. "And you, Martha. You, I think, have more pirate blood in you than you admit." Her eyes sparkle. "How would you like to be a Pirate Queen, Miss Jones?"

Martha grins. "How would I do that?"

"Simple." Elizabeth's hand is warm, sliding up to cup her breast. "All you have to do is love a Pirate King."

She smiles wider and wraps her hand behind Elizabeth's neck, drawing her back down to the bed. "I think I can do that."

  


*

  


Tortuga is as alien a port as anything Martha's seen, and she's seen a few more alien than most people. The smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies is permeating: on occasion it's mingled with hot metal, or the warm scent of tobacco and other variously less-than-legal products, and depending on the street there's the definite hint of blood or sex.

In this particular street it's the latter. Leaning up against a brothel wall, Elizabeth grasps her by the hips and pulls her close with long fingers pushed beneath her belt. The smile on her lips is wicked, her voice low with amusement. "So, how do you like the great pirate port of Tortuga, Miss Jones?"

"I like it fine," Martha says defiantly, in her best prim and proper voice, grinning. Elizabeth laughs and kisses her hungrily, biting her lip. She groans. The hilt of the jian on Elizabeth's right hip presses into her left, the monkey's fist at Elizabeth's throat digging into her collarbone. Martha slides both hands down Elizabeth's thighs and pulls her closer.

  


*

  


"There she is," Elizabeth says, pointing. "The _Black Pearl_."

Martha looks across the expanse of sea and shades her eyes with a hand. The _Pearl_ is only barely visible, but for a second as it sails closer she catches a glimpse of a familiar figure on the deck of the other ship. He looks like he's... dancing? Or something.

"What's he doing?" she mutters.

"That's Captain Jack Sparrow," Elizabeth says, and there's a warm tone in her voice. Martha looks at her, about to correct her - but when she looks back, she laughs, understanding.

On the deck of the _Pearl_ the Doctor is dancing about, cutlass in hand, dodging forward and back and around the main mast, in a playful duel with a man who even from here looks, well - drunk. She can tell it's playful because she's fairly sure that with the way their swords flash against each other, even with the other man's peculiar lurching around, one of them would be dead if it wasn't.

"Boys and their games," Elizabeth says, shaking her head. "It looks like your Mister Smith is done with his errand, do you think?" She turns her head even before Martha nods: Martha wonders how well she knows the Doctor, to not need it. "Hard about! Bring us to Shipwreck!"

  


*

  


The wind's behind them all the way as they brave the maelstrom Elizabeth calls the Devil's Throat, rolling out of the rough water as night falls and Elizabeth steers them unerringly to the point of light on the horizon that must be Shipwreck even though Martha's got no idea what direction they're facing. Elizabeth's hair whips around her face, half fallen out of the rough braid hanging against the nape of her neck, and Martha watches her shake her head in that way that's become almost familiar.

The _Empress_ shudders briefly as they strike a wave. As she settles, Elizabeth lays a hand on the tiller, and Martha smiles to herself; that motion is definitely familiar.

Elizabeth turns to look at her speculatively, her hands still firm on the wheel. Her voice is light. "Where will you and your Mister Smith go next?"

Martha shrugs and smiles, stepping close. "I don't know."

Elizabeth tips her head back into the wind and then shakes it, smiling a little. "Martha, I have the freedom of a ship and the sea, I have William, and Will and Jack - I'm more than content to be a pirate, and yet... I still think I envy you." Her eyes narrow with a playful almost-smile. "Do you think that strange of me?"

She smiles, imagining Elizabeth travelling in the TARDIS. It's an easy picture. "No," she says. "I think you should."

"Pirate," Elizabeth says, as if she's just confirming it, and kisses her with no small amount of tenderness. The ship rocks under their feet and for a moment Martha moves with it, caught in the flow.

  


*

  


"So are we done here, Doctor?"

"I thought I'd ask you that." He grins. "Enjoy yourself aboard the _Empress_, did you?"

She's not blushing. She refuses to blush in front of the Doctor, even if he is suggesting that he knows perfectly well what she's been doing in the time he's been gone.

"A pirate's life for me," she says, grinning. "How about you? You get done?"

"Ready to go when you are."

She nods. "Just give me a minute," she says, and turns around, looking up at the aft deck. She needs to say a goodbye, whatever it turns out to be.

"You'll be leaving, then," Elizabeth says, easily, when she steps up to the deck. Martha smiles, nods.

"Yeah."

"Huang," Elizabeth says, and steps away from the wheel to take her hand. She presses something into Martha's palm: it's small and solid and cool, slightly wet with salt spray. "Come back to Shipwreck whenever you like," she says, in a low voice, and her fingers trace Martha's cheek as she smiles. "With or without your Doctor."

When she opens her hand later, in the TARDIS, there's an emerald nearly an inch across in her palm, carved with the faint relief of a jolly roger and set into a ring of thick bright gold. It fits almost perfectly on the ring finger of her right hand. The Doctor watches her put it on and grins.

"I suppose you'll be wanting to come back here, then."

She smiles, thinking about it. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind."

  


*

  



End file.
